Power of the Fallen
by VampireMoony
Summary: Harry Potter has died. His funeral was a week after leaving school. But what does it mean to be improperly dead, anyway? His body goes missing, and comes back to his world as a completely different person. Who he was meant to be. Bad summary. SLASH
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is a fairly short chapter as I'm just setting it up. And I will only say it once, Harry Potter and his world does not belong to me. No need to repeat it every chapter, hm?

Oh, and so I don't get idiots flaming me later because of their narrow-minded views, this story will contain SLASH hears the gasps. If you don't like boy/boy, girl/girl, or anything beyond straight relationships, (though there will be them too) I'd advise you to not bother reading this story. Any flames I get will be used to cook scrumptious goodies to share with everyone else.

Now, enjoy!

Chapter 1: The Funeral

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It was a balmy summer afternoon on the normally quiet street of Privet Drive. Summer was just coming into its own power but the heat had not become so fierce that it drove the residents to be inside to bask in the air conditioning. The previous year of drought was gone, thanks to a forgiving rainy season, and the watering restrictions had long been removed, a fact that left neighbours without much to gossip about anymore.

Well, except for the smoldering remains of a house where Number Four Privet Drive had once stood.

It had been a fire started by a group of arsonists that had started the blaze, and as it had been at night, most everyone in the neighbourhood already had curtains drawn and couldn't see the flames. The Longview's, who had been having a bit of a late party going on inside their own home were the first to notice the blaze when bidding a leaving guest good night and ran out to help. But the fire's heat was so intense it was melting the asphalt of the road, making it treacherous and downright impossible to cross safely. So all they could do was call for help that arrived too late to save anyone inside.

It was then a large lot of funny-looking people began showing up, and questioning just about everyone in the vicinity who had seen it. They assumed it was some special task force from the police, though with such odd uniforms, the majority of neighbours were glad when they had finally left. The one the Longview's remembered the most, as they told their neighbours who asked for a recount, was a fair-haired man all donned in raggy clothes digging through the rubble. He was the one who came out clutching the body of that Potter boy.

"The look on his face, you might 'ave thought he was a relative of that troublemaker," said Blaine Longview. "And then some old woman showed up and led 'im off. Not one of 'em even bothered asking about the Dursley's. Left it to the police, they did. A very weird lot... Lucky thing the family was out for the night, the brat had it coming to 'im..."

That comment would be the bearer of more gossip, since Arabella Figg had been standing nearby and heard it. People, if not speaking about the fire, were discussing old Mrs Figg's vicious right hook that knocked Blaine Longview out.

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Remus Lupin just sat next to his old schoolmate in the kitchen of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place along with most of the house in the room. Everyone seemed to have shown up for the Portkey to the funeral of one Harry Potter, though most of the adults were ingesting a fair amount of alcohol to drown themselves out of sorrows. Remus, indeed, was sloshed, but not enough to where he did not notice the looks he received, or those Ron and Hermione were getting over the tops of their Butterbeer. To everyone, their grief merely appeared because they had all been close friends. No one knew the deeper reason behind Remus' heartache that threatened to consume him, the ties to the Marauders that could never be broken.

_'Lily, I failed you once more_,' he thought, looking forlornly at his half-empty glass. '_I couldn't protect you and now I couldn't protect Harry...'_

"It's time to go, everyone," came McGonagall's voice from the doorway, catching many people by surprise. Remus, though heavily intoxicated, still managed to get to his own feet and joined everyone over at the Portkey: Harry's old Firebolt, an object he had left behind with Ron along with his most precious belongings at the end of the school year. As his friends remembered the last time seeing him with a smile, he apparently didn't want to risk bringing them home to the Dursley's this year, in case they found out about Sirius...

"Harry always disliked Portkeys," murmured Hermione, the statement followed by the accompaniment of the body-wracking sobs she had been dealing with ever since they had told her and Ron the news and they had seen the body of their dear, defeated friend. They knew that in war, especially with the prophesy, it was likely their friend was going to die, but... not like this. Not in some twist of fate that was so mundane compared to what he had been up against; the reality of it was too much. Ron simply wrapped an arm about her shoulder and touched the Portkey for her, when all the Order members vanished to the lawns of Hogwarts. Not by the lake with Dumbledore, no. Here, out by the Quidditch Pitch, was where their friend would be laid to rest, at his home and close to where he had found freedom and serenity despite the heavy burden on his shoulders.

Several people had turned out for the event, but the atmosphere was not so much a grieving one as a foreboding feeling which made the newly arrived members get the chills. The death of Harry Potter, though not at the hands of the Dark Lord, was a great blow to the war effort. After all, Harry had been the icon of light for the wizards as Fawkes was for the Order. Without him having bound everyone together for a common cause, people who thought they had been on the winning side were heading off to Voldemort, certain now he would win. In their minds, Albus Dumbledore had shown his age in the past few years, and wouldn't be around long enough to defeat You-Know-Who. But now Harry Potter, who had been the last straw, was gone.

"Really, disgraceful how they placed all their hopes on one boy," Remus said disgustedly, clearly showing dislike that figures such as the recently booted Fudge and Rita Skeeter were here, two people who did not even like Harry. McGonagall, who was accompanying him, only blew her nose in assent and sat down in the nearest chair. Remus, knowing his escort would not be getting up to sit closer, sighed and sat down with the other staff, former and present. After all, no one perceived him as any more than Harry's professor and possibly James' friend.

The shock of that night was perhaps still ongoing even now for Remus, of learning everything he had, seeing everything he had. Like for one, that no one inside Grimmauld place even knew what wards were going off. It took Remus arriving from a mission to finally recognize them for what they were. Then they had to get everyone together, send some to alert the Aurors, others to get a Healer down there, and finally set up a task force. All the while, Remus knew something was terribly amiss and several times had to be stopped from just Apparating down there by himself, damned Deatheaters or not!

By the time they had run from the Apparition point a few blocks away from the residence, the sight of the collapsed house was all they had. No Dark Mark hung over the ruins, no gloating masked figures terrorizing the neighbours, just... an accident. Remus could still smell the smoke in his sensitive nose, and the sickening smell of fumes from heated Muggle household cleaners and gas. That nauseating feeling stepped up when he did not see Harry around here amongst the Muggles. Even a singed Harry would have been a welcome sight, but no. Instead, he headed towards the house's ruins and began digging through the burning hot wood and brick, feeling a gut-wrenching deja vu of that night sixteen years ago.

And there, after turning over a door with ten different locks and broken beams, was Harry. He immediately knew something was the matter when he went to pick up the pale boy when things began bending directions they shouldn't have bent, and immediately made a stretcher, bringing him back out, looking lost for everything as McGonagall ushered him and the stretcher away.

Surely, surely Harry would be okay. It only looked like he'd been knocked out and burned, that was it...

'_But he wasn't,' _thought Remus as the eulogy took place, tears flowing down his cheeks. _'He won't ever be...' _His thoughts drifted, not paying attention to the first words as one person after another got up and said their piece about Harry. While the first words and speeches had been from officials and politicians who spoke of the Boy Who Lived, it was only the speeches from his former classmates that did him justice.

The ones who could look past the mask the boy had been forced to wear. They had only seen Harry, and that was who they were crying for.

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Hermione and Ron moved away after the main funeral, where now people were talking generally. Harry's casket of rich mahogany was buried, the white marble marker already magically moved over the spot so one would forever know who rested beneath. It had been more than difficult for the two to sit there and watch that box be buried and listen to Fawkes' mournful songs while people spoke, for the bird had shown back up after weeks of disappearing. They were offered apologies and sympathies by their classmates who had shown up. The Weasleys, seen as Harry's unofficial family, were receiving them which had allowed the two this small escape over to a nearby tree. Hermione leaned into it, Ron in front of her, holding her hands in his.

"Thank goodness it was a closed casket," Hermione said finally, using her already damp handkerchief to dab at her eyes. Ron agreed. Harry's body after clearing it off ash was found badly burned and so broken he might as well have been a smashed doll.

"He wouldn't have wanted everyone gawking at him, even in death would he?" he joked weakly, and both gave a little chuckle. Somewhere, Harry was rolling his eyes at all the attention he was getting for just dying, they were sure of it. Probably amongst being prodded by Sirius and hopefully, his parents.

They were silent for a while, each thinking over memories, and of the last three days. Harry was supposed to have been safe at Privet Drive, and yet... both knew he never had been.

"I can't believe Dumbledore sent him back there so many years, after knowing how they mistreated him! Or why McGonagall let him go back this time! What point is there being defended from Deatheaters if your own family..." he finally said in a vehement voice, eyes shutting tight in their sadness and fury. He wouldn't cry. "And all those injuries..."

They went on discussing it for a while, before they finally were just too exhausted. By that point, they were called back over by the patriarch of the redheads to go back. Neither of them saw a hooded figure that immerged from the other side of the tree where they had just been.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Piano and piano accompanyment music is very conducive to writing...

Chapter 2: On Thy Feet

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'ak p...'

'Wake up...'

Where before no conscious or unconscious thoughts sat, a small flame burned. To the soul trapped within the body, it had slept long enough. It knew that this would be no easy task to wake up the mind. It had been so ready to give up on life, that only a mere phrase from a memory kept it from snuffing out the tiny flame. Slowly, like a slithering snake, the flame's warmth and energy seeped out from the chest in a form like the heart. It passed through cold torso, to head, to all the extremities and ends of the hair. It was good enough to wake up the brain, this magic. This untapped source of limitless power and strength. Enough to make waxy eyes once more gain vitality and open to reveal green pools.

Harry had not felt his death, nor even known he died. He did not feel out of place, nor did he wonder about why he wasn't looking up at the ceiling of his miserable cupboard back at Number 4 Privet Drive. All this being was aware of was that the gentlest summer breeze was playing across his face, and that several somethings were hovering over him, along with innumerable somethings sliding all over and around him. A hand clasped the ground under it, and felt the damp earth give way under his fingers. What was this feeling he had?

'Do not try to speak, young one,' came a sound of numerous voices from above him. If they were voices. It sounded like soft whispers, like the wind if it had a voice. Cold fingers reached down to gently stroke his cheek, which woke him a little more as gradually he realized these shapes above him were not like anything he'd seen. And as he sat up the writhing, slithering creatures all over his skin seemed to move faster. If he were in his right mind he would be ignoring the earlier request and asking what was going on, but then he found himself accepting it with a kind of quiet apathy towards the entire situation. It felt as though he were drifting in water, being buffeted towards these things, whatever they were, and back towards his previous state of oblivion.

'He cannot stay long like this,' said another voice more urgently and feminine than the first. A murmur of assent met her comment and the first one sighed.

'We cannot stay long as it is. Quick, we move...'

Shuffling, and a very warm, sheer cloak wrapped around him, and he was held to an icy body, breath near his ear as he stared at the swirling streaks of red, green, yellow, and blue all over the sky like a great web...

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_**Grave-Robbers-Target-Fallen-Boy-Who-Lived!**_

_**The Boy Who Lived, the very young man who as an infant incapacitated the Dark Lord, was laid to rest yesterday afternoon. The solemn event was attended by any and all of Harry's well-wishers that could make it, and was truly a spectacle of grief. Their sadness over this event will now be added to, by what this reporter has just learned this morning.**_

**_According to the newly-appointed headmistress McGonagall, Harry Potter's body was found exhumed and missing from its coffin this early morning by visitors of his come to put flowers on his grave. Suspicious shadows were reported all evening by staff when attending to renewing the wards on the school, and not twelve hours later this. Will the boy ever be allowed to rest? It seems not even in death shall he get that privilege._**

_**But readers, we must ask ourselves who did this? And why? Is this merely a very cruel prank performed by one of the boy's extreme fans in order to get attention? Or is it the Deatheaters in a scheme we dare not imagine? What will be done with the body is unknown, though any researcher of necromancy can tell you of the horrible things done. We all need only look to the Inferi that You-Know-Who is using in his service. Is Mr Potter resigned to such a fate?**_

**_The Order, headed by the aforementioned professor, seem to be taking this as serious as should well be taken and are putting every effort into recovering the stolen body. Stay fixed on this story as we bring you all the latest news._**

Draco stared at the column, as he had been doing for the last several minutes while his tea went cold on the table next to him. He had not expected it to get out so quickly, but then, this was about Potter, wasn't it? Finally, gray eyes moved back to the man who had handed it to him who must have been watching his reaction. To Draco, it suddenly seemed as though the heat from the fire wasn't reaching his skin. "Severus, do you know if he was taken by the Dark Lord?"

"As of now, I do not know," he said, as they sat in the small living room of Spinner's End by the fire. To Draco's eyes, the man looked almost troubled. Which, if Severus' mask looked faintly troubled, meant much more behind it. Draco didn't like that realization that something was going on that they didn't know about. Especially, now that they would be sought out by either side to be killed.

The blonde had remembered standing there, wand in hand, and being unable to kill the headmaster. He had been made to practice the curse on targets of spiders and rats, but when it came to a human Draco Malfoy had choked. And now he knew why Severus had seemed so angry up there; he hadn't wanted to kill the old man. His professor, and godfather, had hated that Albus made him put him out of the misery that had been written in his features that night. Had hated having to cover for the hidden Potter in the room so the Deatheaters would not find him.

Of course, it was also the night that he had killed the Death Eaters they had escaped with and they had gone into hiding here, and the night Draco learned Severus was no longer on either side. Severus, finally continuing his speaking, caught Draco off-guard and banished his reflection.

"The more powerful a witch or wizard is, the more difficult to revive them with any amount of their former power. And as much as I hate to admit it, Harry Potter, had he hit his maturity, would have easily been a match for Voldemort's raw power, if not his talent." The man shook his head and took a sip of tea as if trying to figure out a particularly complex potion. "I could not see the man taking the body unless there was something specific we have all missed..."

Draco knew there would probably be no more spoken on the topic and chose to retire to bed shortly after. There he laid, stretching out and curling into a ball, twisting every which way to try and get comfortable but no matter what he did, his mind wouldn't let him rest. All he could find himself thinking about was standing on the stool in Madam Malkin's, as a small, green-eyed boy walked in the shop. In the light he had thought he had seen black, downy wings, and had momentarily been shocked out of making a snide remark. But his father had said never to let your true interest be shown.

It was now, when Draco was realizing how insane his father had been, he realized that had probably been one of the biggest mistakes of his life. A fact he would only admit to himself.

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When Harry woke up again, it was not with the sluggishness of coming back from the dead. It was with the shock of the nightmare of his death, which sent him jolting up with wide eyes.

The Dursleys had left him curled up in his locked cupboard, and he was slowly eating the sandwich Dudley had managed to sneak to him while Aunt Petunia distracted Vernon before they had left. It had been a shock when he had gotten back to the Dursleys, at how Vernon had become even more horrible, even to breaking bones and using his belt, while his aunt and cousin had become relatively civil, even friendly sometimes. They had never revealed their reasoning behind it, but as Harry had laid there, looking at the dusty ceiling, he figured it had to do with the Dementors, and the near-attack on them during his sixth year that had been hushed up.

Very soon, the smell of smoke, and a crackle had stirred him from the doze he had slipped into. It was the middle of summer, and the Dursleys didn't sound like they were home, so it couldn't be the new fireplace was sending smoke back down because of a shut floo. As he moved to sit up, Harry realized how difficult the task seemed, which had his mind beginning to race. Another loud snap, and then footsteps racing down the stairs with laughter, and the slamming of a door. He was trapped.

'Harry, Harry it's alright,' said someone, and now the raven-haired boy felt the soft shift of a mattress and a cold hand on his back, rubbing it. 'Just a dream, only a dream...'

The voice was so familiar, before Harry had even thought of it, he was responding back in the same whispering tone, 'But it wasn't just a dream, Sirius... just--' His head jolted up, and green eyes met mischievous blue ones that looked pleased to see him. Especially when Harry began trying to get his voice to work again. Was Sirius really here? But Sirius had died, and he had died, but Harry wasn't so sure because of vague memories of crawly, slithering things and...

The headache-inducing thought processes were brought to a halt when he felt arms wrap around him, and the young man just sank into the comfort there. This hug certainly felt real enough. 'I know that you're probably very confused right now Harry. But don't worry, it will be sorted out shortly. And I'm sorry, for getting so arrogant I ended up leaving you behind. I will never do it again.'

Harry just nodded, before finally pulling back. 'And I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions.' He had long resolved his guilt over it and had realized it wasn't his fault exactly, but recognized what parts were. Sure, it was easier to blame it all on Snape, or any number of factors, but Harry recognized that some of it was his too.

It was then Harry finally started catching up with trying to find out where he was, and found himself in a surprisingly Muggle-looking house. Not like the Dursley house, being cramped and eerily neat and normal, but like how he had once seen from Hermione's photos of home she had in her trunk for when she got homesick. It was one more question to add to the list that was beginning to form in his mind. And Harry Potter was as much of a questioner as he had been back when he was younger.

'Sirius, not to sound rude or anything, but are we dead?' He wasn't sure if it was something a person would be offended by and it came as a momentarily relief when Sirius gave the bark of laughter that brought back happy memories.

'I'm afraid we both are improperly dead, Harry,' he said with a smile. The Gryffindor blinked, before a small voice from the door caught Harry's ears.

'Really, Sirius Black, have you ever heard of an easy transition?' the little brunette said, before stepping into the room. Harry's eyes told him she was very young, maybe five or six. Though her clothing was very old-fashioned, all done up in ribbons like her chocolate curls. He frowned slightly, though, when thinking back to what she said. Harry hadn't spent much time around other children, but he knew he certainly hadn't spoken like that when he was five.

'I believe this calls for some explanation Harry,' said Sirius, pulling out a strange-looking wand and making a small chair for the girl to sit on, 'and Elizabeth probably wouldn't muck it up as much as I would.' He grinned sheepishly.

'Too right, you would, mutt,' she muttered, straightening little wrinkles from her dress before she began to talk. She could tell Harry was sitting on edge for an explanation, and she hadn't been a Malfoy for nothing if not to draw out the suspense. 'We are, what the Wizarding World defines as improperly dead. I believe you have heard the term before?'

Harry shook his head in the negative, and wondered if it was one of those things wizards knew and never thought of explaining to the rest of the people who hadn't grown up in magical families.

'Well, really, it is a broad term accompanying those who are dead but not really dead. Like ghosts, neither on the side of living anymore, but haven't crossed over and known the mysteries that lie in death either.'

Sirius watched as Harry looked at himself, and then his two visitors. He knew they didn't look transparent. 'Are there more than just ghosts?' Harry asked. He found the whole conversation surreal, sitting here and discussing death with a little girl who made him feel like a student and his godfather whom Harry thought he had lost forever.

'Oh yes, there are several creatures. Some that wizards know for a fact are, and then other that they might not realize. Take for instance vampires, which as one knows from any Dark creatures book, need to be drained of life before receiving back the warped kind from the transformer. And then little known would be the Dark dementor.' She took in his expression at that, having heard of his run-ins from Sirius. 'Dark dementors were once tormented souls. People who underwent such cruel practises of magical experimentation long ago that it changed them into what they are today. Creatures that seek happy memories to replace their own horrible ones, and seek affection like a Kiss.'

Sirius shifted uncomfortably, Harry noticed, but then he had been under dementor watch for so long. The idea made some kind of ironic and horrific sense to his mind. 'How do you know this? Just walk up and ask one of them?'

The girl smirked, and Harry thought it was something he had seen before. 'Well, it is not nearly so simple but when you find one willing to talk about it...' She shrugged.

'Okay, then why did Sirius, or you, or me come back?'

Elizabeth looked up as Harry heard a clock chime three somewhere in the house beyond the room, and she responded, 'That is a conversation for another time. Sirius, why don't you take Harry around? I need to go before it gets too late.' With his assent, she excused herself and left with the slight click of her tiny heels.

Sirius saw the look on Harry's face, and stood up, to pat Harry's shoulder. 'Don't worry, it will get more confusing from here on out...'

'You know, if I didn't know better, I would say dying warped your brain even more than it was,' Harry said, and smiled when Sirius laughed. Perhaps he was in shock from dying, but this didn't seem so bad after all.

'Come on then!' Sirius finally said, motioning for Harry to get up. It was the first time Harry noticed Harry had at sometime been changed. Or were these what... He fingered his Quidditch robes thoughtfully as he stood. So that meant this was his real body. Harry smiled as he followed his godfather into a hallway of simple peach colours and turned right. If he... had already been through his funeral, he was glad his friends would have been this thoughtful.

He was just giving a small prayer that his friends were alright, when Sirius had led him into a room of people. All wearing the same, strangely white robes that Sirius was wearing as well that flowed like water. They were looking at him: people of all ages, including a few smaller children who looked up curiously from their game of Exploding Snap.

'Er... hi,' he said, before he found himself being welcomed.

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Hermione looked up from her pile of books when Remus Lupin came through the Grimmauld Place Floo, not even realizing she had had her wand pointed at first. But it seemed logical, even as she apologized before getting up to heat up some water for tea. Since Professor Dumbledore was gone now, the Fidelius charm was not active anymore. And now that Snape had betrayed them with that information, everyone in the house was on their guard. It had been nearly impossible talking her parents into staying here.

"Are you alright, Professor Lupin?" she asked, setting the warm beverage in front of the werewolf who collapsed into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Hermione had seen how badly he had responded to Harry's death. The last of the true Marauders had lost everyone important to him, and to top it off had broken up with Tonks barely a week after Dumbledore's funeral. The relationship had seemed doomed from the start anyway to the prefect, though she kept this opinion to herself.

"Please, Hermione, please don't call me that," he said, with a slightly choked voice. Her eyes wandered to his face and saw the first signs of the emotional distress rising up. Harry had only been buried a week, but today was the day they had planned to take him away from the Dursleys this year. Hermione had noticed how subdued everyone had been today, and how everyone had coped. Molly had taken to cleaning the more stubborn rooms, Ginny ferreted herself away in her room, and Ron and herself had been looking up information. She was the only one still awake this late, simply because she couldn't sleep.

"I know, but it is still strange to call you Moony, or Remus," she said. The man was shaking his head, and a hand came up to cover his eyes.

"Do you know how precious Harry looked when he was first brought home?" There was almost a whine to his voice, like an animal in pain, and Hermione sat down to listen. It was about all she could do for him, since she was now beginning to feel the now-familiar swell of pain in her chest. "Only a day old, and he already had that unruly hair." A sad chuckle. "Lily was hitting Sirius over the head about already promising to teach Harry all about pranking, and Remus was looking so uncomfortable, though he tried to hide it..."

Hermione looked at the man, thinking he had finally lost it. "Remus, why don't we get you to bed; it has been a long--"

"My name isn't Remus!" he said hysterically, slamming a fist onto the table, which made Hermione jump and hope no one had woken up. Seeing the kitchen door shut, she placed a silencing charm up and turned back to the man. Something was tingling up her spine.

"What is your name then?" she asked with baited breath.

"...James."

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A/N: No hurtie the author, or else author won't be able to continue! ducks and hides


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Piano and piano accompanyment music is very conducive to writing...

Chapter 3:

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'But Sirius, why? I don't understand...'

'Harry, the reason I am stuck like this is because I fell through the Veil. It is only through intervention that I am able to be here and a Light one. You are here because of the prophesy... you must go back. As much as I hate it, Harry, your part in this war is not over yet.'

It had been a few weeks since he had woken up here, and Harry had thought he would get to rest here for much longer. And now, now they were saying he had to leave, and they were making Sirius say it. Though to Harry's eyes, he didn't look that happy either.

'When I had gone to your funeral, I had felt your body. You were still there. That was how we knew to dig you up later. Harry, from what you have told me of all these things... these Horcruxes, and what the prophesy said...'

Harry let his head hang slightly, but his voice still held that tinge of annoyance. ' "And either must die at the hand of the other". So neither Voldemort nor I can be killed unless it's one of us that deals the finishing blow?'

'It seems that way, Harry,' said Sirius, pushing back his hair. 'You still have that mirror I gave you, right? Though I have to stay here, you can always talk to me.'

Harry felt a slight rush of guilt, remembering the broken mirror in the bottom of his trunk. Had it even survived the fire? 'I had tried talking to you, and you didn't answer, so I... ermm...'

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Sirius giving a hint of a grin. 'Harry, I hadn't been found yet. Don't worry. You can always cast a repair charm.' Harry still frowned, and shifted so he could look out the enchanted window.

'I just can't go back out there. Even if people excused Harry Potter coming back from the dead--'

'But Harry, you really don't look like the midget you were...'

'Don't call me a midget, Padfoot,' he said, crossing his arms. 'Anyone who knew me could recognize me...'

Harry knew now, he was just making excuses. He just didn't want to leave Sirius. But by the end of the afternoon, Harry stood there at the door of the house as he slipped on a cloak.

And with a last hug of Sirius, he stepped from the house and out into the Muggle street.

He turned back for one last look and was shocked to find it now labeled 'Condemned', if the sign and boarded windows meant anything. The houses all around it looked rundown as well, and it was dark due to clouds over the sun. The door was locked. He had no where to go but forward now. So putting his best foot forward, he stepped out…

And suddenly found himself sprawled out in the middle of a street, with spells going all over his head. Had it all been a dream? He felt his wings twitch slightly, regrown now, as he tried to lift his head to see what was going on. Well, he thought with a sudden bitterness, it wasn't all a dream. As a spell nearly caught his left arm, he decided the time for figuring out those issues was at the moment delayed.

He picked himself up and dodged to the right. Harry had no wand, and no means of defending himself here which made him as helpless as a Muggle at the moment. His eyes scanned the battlefield. It was a rundown Muggle street, at the end of the street focused on one house where spells were being cast out of and at. A very odd house, all covered in strips of brightest gold. But Harry saw that the crowd close to him was occupied with Deatheaters.

And one had fired a curse right at him.

Harry didn't have time to dodge, so he just threw a hand out as if by instinct, and suddenly found himself protected by a magical shield that bounced the spell away easily. The Gryffindor's heart raced; something in him had produced it, without a wand. But wandless magic was something that was supposed to only come with great training, and then only small spells.

Another spell, and another shield. He didn't have a chance if he would just be standing here; already it seemed the Deatheaters were noticing the ineffectiveness of their spells. Well, it looked like the people in the house could hold their own, so Harry decided to play distraction. Something settled on his shoulder, and looked to see what looked like Fawkes. His claws gently dug into Harry's shoulder, and he felt that same force in him from before coming now to the forefront.

He stepped forward, and as if knowing what to do all along, focused on the Deatheaters. Caught each one in his mind, and with a muttered phrase, conjured a towering, multi-headed snake that hissed and struck every character there. Harry walked up to the ghostly snake, and the fallen Deatheaters, grateful to see they were only paralyzed by the bite and not dead.

There were footsteps behind him, and he turned around to find himself looking at Professor Snape and Malfoy. It seemed they were just as surprised to see him as he was to see them. Fawkes looked at the two, and just went back to attempting to straighten out Harry's hair, picking at his bangs now and revealing his scar. And Harry's thoughts were confused. Here were the two people he thought he would curse on sight, but Fawkes clearly trusted them not to hurt him.

"Potter?" came Malfoy's voice, a semblance of calm but a poor one. Snape looked just as shocked, for once dropping that blank mask.

Harry found himself wondering what he must have seemed like to them, suddenly coming back from the dead, as Fawkes carried him away in flame. But that was the last thing he thought before finding himself falling asleep amongst the warm fire.

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The man had been a symbol for young children in the wizarding world, and for older people alike. A wizard who managed to be as much a nondescript pillar of neutrality as Harry Potter was a supposed pillar of light. He was a constant fixture of the magical world, and people knew that and respected him, even if not from conscious thought. Even certain Dark Lords.

Ollivander had come upstairs from his small quarters under the shop, with a slight stretch and scratch to the side. The occasional wince crossed his features with the creak of ancient bones protesting the small flight of stairs. Not that he didn't know what it was caused from. When one's magic was tied to so many crumbling artifacts, hmmm... perhaps he should have thought of preserving charms.

Indeed, he was considering the possibility when the soft voice of a bird called him from his thoughts, and brought him into the shop proper from the passage behind he had been passing through. There sat Fawkes on the counter, perched delicately on the register, seeming glad to finally get his attention. "My old friend, how are you doing?" The bird had been his friend for many a year through Dumbledore and was always amiable company. However, he had heard Fawkes had all but disappeared after Dumbledore's death.

A slight groan made his silver eyes look down, and even old Mr Ollivander looked surprised by what he saw there. He knocked back the flyaway end of his nightcap and glanced at the phoenix. "Now really, wouldn't he have been more comfortable in the upper bedroom?" He grinned as the bird gave an almost trilling mutter, before picking up the lad by the shoulders and easily hauling him back the way Ollivander had come but up the stairs.

The old man watched the tail of the bird disappear before moving back to what he had been doing: going to the kitchen to make some tea. Though now it seemed he would have to make something more substantial. Yes, extra appendages like Mr Potter's would require extra energy. He was sure some people would find him strange in his thinking, treating everything as though it was simply some teenage growth spurt. But in his many years, Ollivander had seen a great many things, and been witness and associate to far stranger.

He felt the gentle pressure of the bird's weight settle on his shoulder, and absently raised a hand up to ruffle the chest plumage. "You know, you're lucky I keep my curtains drawn. You are far too noticeable for your own good, Fakes. Rather like our young man sleeping upstairs." It had always seemed to him, that whenever he had seen Harry through his shop windows for his yearly trip to Diagon Alley, the young man, however he tried to be unobtrusive, let out a kind of aura that just attracted eyes. Even Ollivander would admit to himself being caught under that mysterious spell when Mr Potter had walked into his shop.

Yes, a very curious boy indeed. One meant for great things.

"I am assuming that you have your own reasons for bringing him to me? Is the care he would receive from the Order not enough?"

And once more, the phoenix seemed to exhibit a feature of snorting as though from amusement. Really, Ollivander thought as he went to put some swiftthistle in the hot brew, the bird had spent far too long in a building of teenagers. Seemed to be picking up on their habits; he already had the uncanny twinkling eyes from Dumbledore down to a fine art.

He soon found the bird leaving and coming back with several rolled-up Prophet papers that hadn't yet been opened. "Yes, I know I haven't opened them, but lately I have no use for the thing, and was cancelling my subscription... do you know what a difficult problem it would be to do so?" But since Fawkes wouldn't let up, and breakfast was cooking itself, he began to unroll them. The news first was the aftermath of Dumbledore's death, the kind of eulogies that most famous wizards got from the press. But just when he was starting to get mildly bored with the newest information on Deatheater attacks, there came a page to make his untamed eyebrows rise slightly.

So, Mr Potter had died? Hm, and been mysteriously exhumed... no successful recovery of body and friends in upset... "Well, Fawkes, this does make a few problems doesn't it?" And he wasn't speaking of the two of them now hiding a supposed stolen and reanimated body. No, with Dumbledore gone, he had his doubts for the subtle power struggle that would take place in the Order, but assumed Mr Potter would keep it clean. And Moody was far too aggressive and hardheaded.

He could not teach the boy the subtleties of the war this time, and everything that went with it.

"Fawkes, if you would be so kind as to retrieve his things from where they are being held," he said, not a question but no order either. The bird Flamed away, and the man heard the slight creaks of the bed above his head which most likely meant a waking body.

"I'm too old for this," he said, but with a small grin on his pale features as he gathered breakfast and tea on a tray; he had not had company in many years.

Hm, would the previously dead body need food?

---------------

Anyone in the household would have noticed how often Remus and Hermione had been spending time with one another in the study of the old building. Ever since Remus had come back, the two had been researching and looking through countless books. Finally, as the semester was so close, Molly had finally asked them during dinner one night what they were doing.

Remus had looked up after stealing a glance at Hermione, and answered in his usual soft-spoken way, "We are looking up the books here on Horcruxes. We figured, we would take up where Harry left off."

Though it hurt to mention Harry's name and conjure the memories he had made with him over the years, it immediately halted the questioning they had seen coming. Truth was, they already knew where one was... or at least, the most likely place to look.

Hermione had mentioned the initials Harry had told her were on the note in the locket earlier that day, and it had immediately caught James' attention. He had her come over near where he was sitting, by the old Black family tree, and pointed to a name next to the burnt-out hole that was Sirius.

"Regulus Aufero Black"

They had now retired to the upper, unused bedrooms where the former Blacks had slept, which hadn't been completely gone through yet. James could still remember flying over and playing pranks on old Regulus during the summer before they'd leave for his house. "Never thought knowing Padfoot's brother would amount to something useful," he said, going over to a bureau and beginning to dig through drawers.

When he heard the door shut, and the Silencing charm go up, he sighed, and the tired eyes of Remus Lupin turned to look at Harry's friend. The cleverest witch of the current age, and one he knew was not a girl to sit on such finds without learning more. In fact, he was surprised she had waited these last few days to begin asking what she had heard about on that night.

"Where do you want me to begin, Hermione?" he asked as he leaned against the bureau in a manner reminiscent of when he taught Defense those years ago.

"How did this happen?" she asked after a time, sending a cleaning spell to the bed but still creating a cloud of fine dust when she sat down. The man's eyes looked around the room as he sighed. Starting anywhere would be difficult; might as well start with this question.

"It had been in the last few years of war there, even before we had received Harry. It had been an experiment between Remus and me that we had been working on through school for a hypothesis paper in Advanced Charms. Sirius, unfortunately for him, had promised to help Wormtail with the different paper."

It had been their secret. That the hypothetical switching of souls from bodies could happen. A wizard's soul was directly tied to his magic, so if you left a little piece behind in your body, you could always find your way back.

"But we had gone farther from the hypothetical," he said, thinking back then and feeling a flow of memories like he hadn't had since that pivotal third year of Harry's. "It was for a mission for the Order, that we originally switched bodies. I had come down with a bad flu, and Lily wouldn't let me go. So, Remus took my place, and I completed it in his body."

Hermione by now was looking at him with wide eyes. The implications of the magic were hideously complicated in her mind, and dangerous. "But wouldn't something like that be illegal?"

"We never found anything deeming it such," he said. "Besides, we learned it was dead useful. When Lily and I were having to be careful of even going out for groceries, marked as we were, Remus Lupin seemed the kind of person who blended into a crowd. Lily knew of course, what we were doing, after she caught us one night." A small laugh escaped the man despite himself; he remembered the walloping they had gotten from her, and the lecture which had left them wondering if she had somehow been related to McGonagall.

"This was just after Harry had been born, and I had gotten back from a mission, and forgetting I was Moony just came into our house."

Hermione looked at him, and let him rest a little. She wasn't sure if that had answered more questions than it had made her think of new ones. She was about to continue when a knock came on the door, and Ron stepped in. "I was just wondering, if I could help you two out. I mean, now that I know what you've been doing." He had promised to help Harry, and now he felt he was shirking that promise.

James became Remus and said, "Yes, Ron, we could use your help." He gave a smile to the redhead who immediately gained that determined look from back in the Shrieking Shack. Just like Sirius and himself, he would have done anything for Harry. He gave a look to Hermione though, over Ron's shoulder as she explained what they had found; they would hold the rest of this conversation some other time.

A/N: I notice the chapters are shorter, but I really don't want 20-page chapters. I enjoy taking stories in on the computer in satisfying bites, not choking through 10,000+ words. Maybe it's just me. )

Ah, as you know, this will be slash if there is any romance. Who do you want paired up? Hm?


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Piano and piano accompaniment music is very conducive to writing...

Chapter 4: The Only Thing You Can Count on Is Death and Taxes…. Not!

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The Deatheaters were quite beside themselves by now.

It had been a week since Harry Potter's death, and their Lord… well… Most had no idea, though a few were considering that Potter had managed to do something to their Lord when he died. Sort of a 'dragging you with me' vengeance thing.

All that Wormtail knew was that he had to simply keep supplying Voldemort with snack and drink if he wanted to keep from being punished. It was a simple enough task, he thought as the plastic Muggle grocery bag rustled at his side, compared to the ruthless tasks before. Who knew that the Dark Lord had a sweet tooth? He knocked at the man's door and entered.

He thought that if the other Deatheaters had seen their Lord watching television and stuffing himself with soda, chips, and Mars Bars, they might all revolt. "My Lord, I have returned with what you have requested."

"Excellent, Wormtail!" the man said, bouncing up and to his feet to retrieve his renewed supply of goodies.

"Er… those are nice slippers, sir. Are they new?" he asked, motioning to the clawed and fuzzy slipper feet the man was wearing. Dear Lord, his Lord was losing it! He, Wormtail, the sniveling coward, needed to do something!

Harry groaned as he awoke. For some reason, he was resting face first on a queen-sized bed when he was sure the last thing he remembered was Fawkes transporting him somewhere. A hand trailed to his back pocket, and found no wand still. He only stirred when he heard someone close by chuckle.

"Young man, how can you spend time around Alastor Moody and still carry a wand in your back pocket?" If Harry could have sworn…

"Mr. Ollivander?" Why had Fawkes brought him here? He rubbed his eyes, but the clear vision stayed the same. No one else had those creepy eyes, though the sight of him in nightshirt and cap were new.

"One and the same, Mr. Potter. I do not suppose you know why Fawkes deposited you here of all places?" Harry shook his head and rolled to the edge of the bed to sit. He was light-headed, and when he stood up, he felt much farther away from the floor than he should have been. It seemed a good idea to sit back down.

"You have grown up from last I saw you. If not for your scar, I would not have recognized you."

Harry turned to look at Mr. Ollivander with that statement. Different? How could he look different? A flash of a memory came to mind. A beautiful house, a smiling face he recognized, and the pain as his magic swarmed over him. Changing him, embracing him as it never had before. Then a startling realization came, only confirmed by the dirt clinging to his Quidditch robes.

"I… I died."

Harry felt Mr. Ollivander's eyes watching him closely but did not look back up from his lap until a hand rested gently on his shoulder. "Are you hungry, Harry?"

The teenager ignored the use of his first name, instead shaking his head. "I don't feel anything, apart from my magic and touch." Pressing his hand to his chest, "I do not even have a beating heart." He frowned, focusing inward to see what else felt different. It was, well, kind of disturbing to realize he was dead. "I seem to draw breath to speak but not breathe. It feels like my magic though, has flooded my veins."

The older man nodded. "It sounds as if it is your magic sustaining you, though for such a thing to be possible…. Well, I knew you were a powerful wizard." Harry sighed and nodded, clenching a hand into a fist. So powerful, he could not die. He could not even be afforded that normalcy. But he knew it would not do to dwell on it, at least right now.

"Harry, you are welcome to stay here. Get some rest; feel free to peruse the books on the shelf there. There are still many hours until the shop opens."

Harry took in the sight of Ollivander in his pajamas for the first time and realized he must have been keeping the man up. "Sorry, sir." His apology was waved off with a hand and smile, before the old man left. Fawkes appeared from the place he had taken up on a perch in the corner of the room, which looked rather like the one that had been in Dumbledore's office, settling on Harry's knee. Harry gently ruffled the bird's crown feathers as he thought about what he was supposed to do now….

Onis Ollivander found it pleasant to have company while he did his work. It was early in the summer, long before the rush of wand purchasing, which he knew would occur now that he was back in his shop. This is when he got his wand-making work done, and he found a young man seated nearby and watching in fascination as he weaved the magical elements together.

Over the last few days, Harry had followed after him like a lost puppy. He had been afraid to come down during shop hours for fear of someone recognizing him at first and kept to the back rooms. However, Onis had provided him with a red strip of material, which when tied around his forehead, easily blocked his scar from view. Since then, the young man had taken a great interest in what Onis did. It was quiet company for the most part. The boy was unusually quiet, even more so than his mother had been when she would come for books and supplies. Then again, the boy had gone through far more in his lifetime than many adult wizards had.

"I noticed you have been reading many of the spell books around here. Are you having difficulty sleeping?" he asked, checking the balance of the current wand before polishing it and settling it in its box. The light at the boy's door was never extinguished, as far as Onis could tell.

"I don't need to sleep anymore. I figure I might as well study."

"Well, perhaps you would like to try and make a wand?" he asked, feel his lips twitch upward at the surprised look on Harry's face. "You have read the theory, and the harmonious magical elements in the supplies I use. Besides, it might be a good idea to make yourself another wand." As far as Onis knew, Harry's worldly possessions were still back at Hogwarts, probably tucked safely away. Harry was currently borrowing some of Onis' own clothes. Well, he needed to do something about it. Feeling unusually impulsive, he put away his tools and supplies to Harry's questioning glance.

"Harry, we need to go do some shopping. I would like you to accompany me, and I will show you afterward where the supplies are you will need to get started."

He noted the boy looked almost panicked. It was one thing to stay in a rarely visited store, but it was quite another to go strolling out into the streets! Onis sighed and knew this might be difficult. "We will not go into Diagon Alley right off. First, you need a name."

Harry looked up at the old wizard. A name? Of course, Harry Potter was dead. If he were to go about using his name, serious problems would arise. Besides, if he really thought about it…. Well, the idea of making a new persona was almost a freeing experience. "Can I just make up a name?"

"No, it is a little more complicated. You have probably not been aware of it, but when you entered into the magically binding contract of the Triwizard Tournament, the contract back at the Ministry was signed by your magical name and signature."

"Isn't a name and signature the same thing?" This seemed to be delving into ideas that wizards had and were never explained to the muggleborns, which he might as well have been. Onis' shake of the head confirmed this.

"Your magical name is your name. It cannot be forged, and you cannot lie and write down a different name. Most contract papers of importance have the charms on them that require you to write your magical name. Your signature is interconnected with it, but unlike a name on a paper, your signature can be traced back to spells and to your very aura."

Harry thought about this new information, brow slightly furrowed. It seemed to make sense, in as much as anything made sense in the wizarding world lately. "So we have to go somewhere to do this?" Where were they going if not to Diagon Alley? Surely they couldn't waltz into the Ministry building!

"Normally you have to go to the Ministry, but as this requires a certain amount of secrecy and underhanded dealings, Knockturn Alley is our destination."

Now, Harry had only had a few memories of Knockturn Alley, and all reinforced the strong want of never returning there. But then, he had always been in some sort of danger there, he mused. He walked alongside of Ollivander down the street towards the business section and past the 'antique' shops. Harry had been shocked to find that Ollivander's had a side of store on the dark alley.

"It is a neutral position Harry," he had said as they got ready to leave. "I do not sell anything innately dangerous." What did that make the swords and other weapon and shield relics? Pruning tools?

The sudden thought of whacking away at a hedge with Gryffindor's sword interrupted his thoughts, causing him to nearly miss Ollivander opening a door to their left. Harry followed him in to a two room office, where a single woman sat at a desk. If he had entered the office without knowing it was on Knockturn Alley, the wizard never would have guessed it was a place of black dealings. The woman recognized Ollivander, nodded in greeting and led them into the back room. Harry jumped when the door behind slammed shut and was activating numerous wards, hand ready to grab his wand.

"You companion is nervous Onis," she said. It wasn't a question. The dirty blonde offered Harry her hand, which he took reluctantly. He didn't feel anything overly evil about her, which eased his mind a little and sat down in one of the offered chairs. "So what may I do for you?" At the silence that answered this, she met the young man in the eyes. That caught Harry's attention. "All information dealt with in this room is confidential. It cannot leave this room."

"Well," said Harry after a moment, "Ollivander here says this is the place to get my name and signature changed."

"Yes, though when we change your name, your signature will be newly recorded." Harry supposed that was alright, since his magic signature according to his keeper right now, had changed drastically. "All right," the woman said, pulling a long, thin sheet of paper from a drawer of her desk and setting it in front of him. "We will need to take a drop of blood. Owing to the importance of names in our world, you are only allowed to select from family names that have come before you, since you are technically of their blood."

Harry leaned forward, and with a reassuring look from Ollivander, stuck out his hand, palm up, to the lady. He felt the slight stick of a pin, and her squeezing the pad of his pointer finger until a drop finally fell onto a small patch of paper on top. Harry almost missed the slight gold and silver tendrils in that tiny splat.

The wizard watched in interest and trepidation as the drop was absorbed into the page and words began appearing in the same colour, shining like metal if the light hit the wet ink. "How is this stuff invented?" he wondered out loud, which seemed to amuse the woman. He glanced up. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I ever caught your name?"

The woman smiled. "You keep your secrets, and I keep mine. Though if you must call me something, make it Jibrille." She looked down at the paper, an eyebrow raising the only sign that something in the names interested her. "Here are the family names," she said, sliding the sheet closer. Harry peered down at it, feeling Ollivander joining. There were a few dozen at least, going back generations, newest right at the top with 'Potter'. "Do any of these names interest you?"

Harry was considering a couple of names at the top, until the wand maker pointed at one at the bottom. "Why not this one?"

Harry looked and blanched. "I would like to not be the center of attention again. This would certainly put me in the light."

"Think though," said Ollivander. Harry noted he was being careful not to say Harry's name. "They are still looking for you, even now according to the newspaper. As much as you don't look like yourself anymore, you still have your mannerisms, and those eyes. I happen to know for a fact this family had those eyes. Besides, who would expect you to take that name?"

Damn, Ollivander could think about these possibilities, thought Harry. Now that he actually stopped to think about it, what the man suggested made sense. Playing on loyalties in the school was perfect, if he went back, and though he would still be an object of attention for a while, "It is kind of like hiding me in plain sight." Those bright eyes watched the old wizard nod and give an almost mischievous smirk.

"Now I just need a first name." Not James or Evan, as much as he would like to honour his parents. A soft voice in his ear, warm and inviting like a summer breeze, whispered a word in his ear. One he spoke out loud. "Lantis." Where had that come from?

"A fine name," said Jibrille with an air of approval.

"And it greatly matches you as well," chuckled Ollivander.

Harry wondered where the voice had come from, but the name was fine by him as well. So he took the magical quill Jibrille handed him as she presented a form in front of him which required his name. "The quill works on blood, but nothing like the one you must have encountered in the past," she added, motioning to the back of his right hand. Harry flushed; he had nearly forgotten about the words etched on his hand. "If you sign in blood, it verifies your name and signature in one."

He took the quill, and figuring he might as well do this change of identity correctly, wrote in a style far different from his normal handwriting and took longer. It was long, fine cursive. "Lantis Slytherin." A kind of tingle ran over him, but the woman just looked pleased now, and set the file in an opened folder at the edge of her desk. More documents appeared. He needed a past, and here they could put the information into motion and slip into the legal channels. If anyone looked up information on him, they would find it legit.

Ollivander had paid (as Harry had no access to his bank account) and they left once more after another hour discussing any particular details Harry wanted in the profile or not. "So how am I going to get into my bank account now?"

"Well, they are likely under watch by the Order, the key removed. Oh, the goblins would recognize you, name change or not. Most magical species that aren't wizards are notorious for such abilities, but it is still too dangerous. You however, will now have access to the Slytherin bank account. Hm, I wonder how Hogwarts will react to a named heir of Slytherin returning?"

To Harry, it sounded as though he were speaking of the castle itself.

Hermione greeted Remus as she joined him in the library. She could not bring herself to call him James, and it would be dangerous to get into such a habit anyway. He had been in hiding like this for almost sixteen years. But she wondered why. Surely, it would have been worth the possible consequences of their experimenting with souls in order to have his son back? The thought of Harry having to grow up with the Dursley's, while he had his actual father out there made her more than a little upset.

However, it was not her place. The person who should have had the right to get mad was Harry, and he was… was no longer here to talk to Remus about it. The man was probably feeling the guilt about it anyway, since that was where Harry had died.

She glanced across the room to where Harry's trunk sat with his broom on top. No one had known what to do with them, so they remained there. This house had been Harry's. "Isn't it odd?" she asked suddenly, causing Remus to look over at her. With the questioning look, she continued. "Harry didn't have a will, so this house should have gone to the Ministry, correct?"

Remus looked thoughtful. Hermione had read that in the case of the death, all un-willed property was brought to the attention of a department in the Ministry. Surely someone would have come to inspect the house?

"Well, if the house still has a Secret Keeper, it might continue working."

"But Harry told me before he left school that the Fidelius charm was not active anymore since Dumbledore's death."

Before they could debate further, a burst of flames signaled Fawkes coming into the room. No one had seen him since the funeral of Dumbledore and Harry. Hermione jumped from her seat and crossed the room when the bird was locking its talons around the handle of the trunk and one about the broom. "No! Shoo, Fawkes! Let go of Harry's things!" The bird just Flamed again with the items in question in tow. Why did Fawkes take his things?


End file.
